c l o t h e s
( m a k e t h e m a n )
When you meet a man, you judge him by his clothes;
when you leave, you judge him by his heart.
-- Russian Proverb
Parashat Tsav is priest-centric. In great detail, it describes the service, behavior and accoutrements of the Kohanim – the priests occupied with the sacrificial rites.
In explaining the priests’ many holy activities, the text briefly mentions one that we might not otherwise consider: the clean-up job. After a burnt-offering has been completed, the priests were required to do three activities:
“The priest shall dress in linen raiment, with linen breeches next to his body; and he shall take up the ashes to which the fire has reduced the burnt offering on the altar and place them beside the altar. He shall then take off his vestments and put on other vestments, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a pure place.” (Leviticus 6:3-4)
First, the Kohen collects (“takes up”) the ashes left as residue from the burnt-offering, setting them beside the altar temporarily; then he changes his clothes; and finally, he takes the ashes away from the holy space and discards them.
Why does the priest have to change his clothes? Rashi (1040 – 1105), suggests a simple purpose: the Kohen must carefully avoid getting his nice work clothes soiled by the ashes. Rashi states: “The servant should not wait upon his master in his kitchen clothes”, suggesting that the priests need to preserve their formal garments for their actual sanctuary work – and should change when they are dealing with the messy clean-up detail in between.
Rashi’s insight is relevant to us as well: when we enter the sanctuary – that is, when we go to pray – we should care how we present ourselves. Rather than pray in our “kitchen clothes”, we should put care, preparation, and maybe even a little fuss into presenting ourselves in those hours.
Others see a different emphasis in the priestly clothes-change. Bachya Ibn Pakuda (early 12th century), in his book Duties of the Heart, writes that
“…it is in the Inner Sanctuary that the High Priest faces his Master in the most sumptuous attire. However, when exposed to the throngs, he dresses more simply and performs a menial task so as to erase all pride from his heart.” (Chapter 6: Sha’ar haKeniah – the Gate of Humility)
Whereas Rashi was God-focused, Ibn Pakuda emphasizes the human experience. Ibn Pakuda teaches: when it is just you and God, wear your finery; but when you are facing the masses, dress down. (Many of us do the opposite: put more care into dressing for public occasions and less into private moments.) The Torah passage encourages: Wear nicer clothes in holy moments – when praying – to stir greater love, attention, and conscious care in the relationship.
But is this really the best advice for all of us? A famous story is told of one Chasidic master:
“Once, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev saw a cart-driver dressed for the morning service in prayer shawl and tefillin. He was greasing the wheels of his wagon. ‘Lord of the World!’ the rabbi exclaimed delightedly. ‘Behold this man! Behold the devotion of Your people. Even when they grease the wheels of a wagon, they still are mindful of Your name!’” (Martin Buber, Tales of the Hasidim: Later Masters)
Instead of seeing inappropriateness, the Chasidic master perceives kedusha -- holiness. He teaches: every moment can be a prayerful one – even when you are doing the most meaningless, messy task – every moment can and should be as if you are in an intense relationship with God. Wearing the tallit – the holy garments, so to speak – while greasing the wagon-wheels is not demeaning or disrespectful. To the contrary, it is an act of elevation of the ordinary.
This is Rashi’s idea turned inside-out. We should serve our master in our kitchen-clothes – and every other outfit, too.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel crystallizes Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s insight. The clothes we wear (and the money we spend, the relationships we maintain, the lives we lead, the choices we make) every moment of every day are the very garments of holy souls who serve God. The goal is clear:
“Prayer must not be dissonant with the rest of living. The mercifulness, gentleness, which pervades us in moments of prayer is but a ruse or a bluff if it is inconsistent with the way we live at other moments. The divorce of liturgy and living, of prayer and practice, is more than a scandal; it is a disaster. A word uttered in prayer is a promise, an earnest, a commitment. If the promise is not kept, we are guilty of violating a promise…What is handicapping prayer is not the antiquity of the Psalms but our own crudity and spiritual immaturity.
…Prayer is meaningless unless it is subversive, unless it seeks to overthrow and to ruin the pyramids of callousness, hatred, opportunism, falsehoods. The liturgical movement must become a revolutionary movement, seeking to overthrow the forces that continue to destroy the promise, the hope, the vision.” (Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel, Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity, “No Religion is an Island”)
Perhaps the Kohanim, in changing their garments, were extending their holy work well beyond the sanctuary, beyond the pomp and the finery and the formality. Perhaps they were signaling to us that all acts, all days, all looks, can be important parts of sanctifying God. Holiness is not relegated to the sanctuary. It finds its home everywhere.